missing my trips to the city
and how
the abandoned cokeworks
rotting away
by the train tracks
sent my thoughts
to that place
where things were so different
a secret world
I want to write about
immersed
in an industrial
wastelandscape
how can I capture this imagined
space
I don’t have those skills
or patience
scrolling in my bed
past my headache
reading about runner’s face
and Nick Cave
and grief
and grace
Photo by Darla Hueske on Unsplash
How many Poängs
How many days’-worth of 1-day Acuvue. Decades… Centuries?
How many Normal, with wings
How many Nokia dumphones. Gathering dust in that drawer.
Throw them all away
The Thermomixes of today will one day rest alongside the juicers of yesteryear
The coffee machines. And all those mountains of coffee pods
Don’t feel superior: take-away coffee cups as well.
Our parents’ fondue sets (still in use in Switzerland!)
Our torn Slip’ n Slides
One million, two thousand and twenty-eight discarded games of Hungry, Hungry Hippos
Ab Circle pros, Thighmasters and exercise bikes
Posca pens, tin soldiers, rusty matchbox cars
They all nestle together in the earth somewhere
Leaching their toxins into the sad and dirty ground
Cabbage Patch Kids, unrescued by Tree Change
Enough bubble wrap to cover the Empire State Building. And The Gherkin, And the Eiffel Tower. And the Sydney Opera House. And the Taj Mahal. With leftovers.
All the milk bottles that carried products from cows whose babies we aren’t
Shower gel
Orangutan-displacing palm-oil laced peanut butter
Electric toothbrushes, battery-operated mascara, torches.
Cans of Diet Coke, Coke Light, Coke-we’re-not-Monsanto-we-just-make-fizzy-diabetes-in-a-can-please-keep-buying
Pedometers
I’m no Lorax
But who does speak for the trees?
clairevetica 